Life and times of Inquisitor Lavellan
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: Drabbles starring my elvish rogue Inquisitor, Alaina Lavellan. Maybe spoilers. 1: "Other" - why was she sent to the Conclave, out of everyone?
1. Other: Perks of being a reader

What no one realised, when they picked their Inquisitor, their _saviour_, was that she'd be so incredibly _other_. She kept secrets and had been labelled an outsider by the _Vallaslin_ crafted so carefully by Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan. The markings were a symbol of pride when her people looked upon her, but were a pain in reality, things she received while masking her doubt. She learned things to recite, excuses and hopes and promises she didn't remember.

It wasn't until a couple of years after she earned her _Vallaslin_ that she finally learned to read the basics of the Common Tongue. What with the Fifth Blight and the avoidance of trade with the humans before that, she'd never been able to justify asking _hren_ Threros to teach her to do so. There was too much to do, too many of the people to protect, too many darkspawn to avoid or cut down. As a scout, that was her duty, her role: _protect the clan_.

But a scout wasn't taught to read Ancient Elvhen, because why teach someone who wasn't expected to know everything? Instead, Alaina was left to stare blankly at the pages of symbols she couldn't begin to understand, not without some kind of tutelage. And they were only in the common tongue, books written by dwarves and humans and even a diary from a city elf.

"All these worlds just out of my reach," she would murmur to herself - until 9:38 Dragon, when Threros finally took pity on her and agreed to teach her.

Less than two years hence, the Conclave was called. The Keeper sent Alaina, as the only kinsperson capable of travel and also able to read the language, to watch and wait. If the Templars' won, then things would inevitably worsen for the People. If the mages won, then perhaps the Elvhen could eventually be welcomed with open arms.

What Keeper Lavellan should have realised was that Alaina was an incredibly curious girl. Given the chance, she would have happily explored the 'dreadful' human cities they sometimes passed on the path to Arlathvhen, the meeting of the clans. She was too curious. She wasn't 'Dalish' enough, but she was also 'too' Dalish to blend in with the people who saved, accused, and raised her up.

She was just alive enough to be what the Inquisition needed, though. Until they said they needed her to write reports of what she had done. When she realised that half way through a mission, she slipped and sliced her finger as she adjusted the daggers' holsters on her back.

"_Fenedhis!_"

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**Word count: **431

**A/N: **It occurred to me that my poor curious Inquisitor, Alaina Lavellan, wouldn't really have been taught to read common tongue _or_ ancient elvish in the chaos that led up to the Conclave. Just too much going on - no time to teach the children, the elders needing all spare hands. But if something changed - if it got safe to be an elf, even only by a fraction - then she'd have talked anyone into teaching her to do so.

Threros is an OC; he teaches the children basic skills. Istimaethoriel is the canonical Keeper, in DA:I Lavellan can receive a letter signed by her.

_Vallaslin_ \- blood writing, the facial tattoos. _Common tongue_ \- main language of Ferelden, created largely by Dwarves, basically their version of English. _Hren_ \- respected person. _9:38 Dragon_ \- start of Orlesian civil war, year before DA:I. _Fenedhis_ \- elven curse, similar to 'crap' or 'shit'.


	2. Stories: Tales we tell

What they should have realised sooner was that Alaina was too curious to let the stories drop. That was how it started with Solas: "You must have some interesting stories about the Fade." After two hours and one minor emergency that went unheeded, Cullen and Cassandra finally tore her away with a promise that yes, they were going to let the apostate stay and no, they weren't going to kill him for offending the Maker or some such thing.

Varric wouldn't tell new stories, just the ones he wrote. She knew _the Tale of the Champion_ because that had been the text Threros had used to teach her to read the common tongue. "Pulp," he said, "easy, simple, quick to understand. It will make sense to you sooner than the books written to teach children." And that taught her to read. Unfortunately, the writer proved to be tainted by his experiences and whatever the lady Seeker had put him through: he wouldn't write new things, or tell new stories. Not at that point.

Cullen and Cassandra were the same, and lady Nightingale and Josephine, whose only stories were of wines and things Alaina could find in any city, though that didn't prevent her from listening eagerly to them. Solas told more stories, and finally Mother Giselle mentioned the small library that must be in the bowels of Havens' Chantry. Needless to say, the Dalish woman tore through the tomes like a madwoman, devouring them with her eyes.

Then came the Iron Bull and Krem and stories that became gorey and messy. A fight with a Tevinter soldier caught on each horn, flailing and screaming the entire time. Growing up in a Qunari world, no, not in Par Volen, that wasn't all there was to the world under the Qun. Surviving re-education, the price of affection, of disinterest, of vanity and inflexibility. More stories for her to listen to, biding her time outside Haven.

Cole was next, the peculiar boy who was neither spirit nor demon, not truly. He was too real for that, too _present_, and she adored him for it. He saw fractions and glimpses of others' minds, but he never questioned it. He recited the words like a mantra or chant, biting, constant, doubtless. They made sense to him. He must have known that the little snippets helped her, too, because she latched onto them like a babe to its' mother, finding stories of grief and pain and heartbreak and healing, all at once, in brisk sentences clipped with alliteration and echoing sounds. Inspired by him, she began to make up her own.

Then Haven fell and Dorian arrived, and then a long, lonely march through the snow. The only thing that kept her alive through all this was the insistence of her mind, _and then, and then, and then_, like a spell keeping her on her feet. There was the light of fire far ahead, she could see it, biting into the sky like a beacon. In her mind, stories fragmented and came apart, but they remained encouraging, not disillusioning: heroics and victories, against all odds. Stories are what saved Alaina Lavellan's life that day, and would many more times in the future.

Unfortunately for her, by the end, there would be more than one story she knew and wouldn't tell.

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**Word count: **554

**A/N: **Threros is one of the _hren_ of clan Lavellan, a teacher for the little ones.


End file.
